


Tales of Hand Holding.

by melbopo



Series: sh wlw fic bingo [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Artist Clary Fray, F/F, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Nonbinary Maia Roberts, Shadowhunters WLW Bingo, The Bus Driver Is Terrible So Now I Bumped Into You I'm Sorry And... Are You Flirting With Me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melbopo/pseuds/melbopo
Summary: A cute flirty stranger reminds Maia of their original tattoo dreams. They realize it's finally time to make that dream a reality. They deserve something good and they shouldn't run from that.~~~~~for the sh wlw bingo for team red : tattoo!au + rude bus driver that leads to flirting





	Tales of Hand Holding.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a beautiful person the other day that made me want to get more tattoos and this is the basis for this whole fic.
> 
> trigger warning // vague mention of unhealthy, controlling relationships where the partner was unsupportive of decisions

Maia hates Wednesdays. They always feel like they’re running late on Wednesdays.

It’s as if the universe is conspiring against them despite society’s collective attempt to improve the day’s reputation with a rebranding. The rebranding simply prevents Maia from complaining about their disdain for the day because each time they do, a stranger interjects with some dumb response of “but it’s hump day!”. Gretel understands though. She has a class at 8 am with a non voluntary pre class study session on Wednesdays.

Whose idea was it to give wednesdays a camel mascot anyway?

Maia hasn’t always hated Wednesday, just currently at this moment in their life they do. Probably because Tuesday Trivia keeps patrons lingering later at Hunter’s Moon. It pushes back their bar cleaning start to 9:30 pm instead of their preferred weekday cleaning start time of 9:00 pm. Even if the bar closes at 10:00 pm either way, that half an hour makes a huge difference if they’re leaving at 11:00 pm or nearly midnight.

Wednesdays are also when they have to be on campus the earliest for one of their classes. It’s technically only for a professor’s  _ optional _ office hours but the class is organic chemistry and the professor takes into consideration office hours attendance if the grade is in between two. And did Maia mention the class is orgo? They’ll take all the help they can get.

This Wednesday, Maia is feeling all sorts of off. They woke up later than they wanted but still decided to take the time to make breakfast. When running behind, they should know by now to cut some things out of their morning routine to stay on schedule. Or maybe to buy more granola bars for future late start morning rushes. That’s probably the best solution because a hangry Maia is an unpleasant person to interact with.

It seems that everyone is running late in addition to them this particular Wednesday which doesn’t help. There are more people than usual at the bus stop. When their bus arrives, it’s not even their usual driver they’ve come to recognize for their schedule. The bus is more full than Maia is used to as well with standing space only.

Of course their bus pass choses that day to be difficult, taking multiple swipes before successfully being read by the card machine and holding up the line. This bus driver has no patience either, most likely due to being behind schedule. The moment the last person steps onto the bus, they close the doors and drive off quickly only to stop short at a red light.

“What the fuck.”

Completely unprepared for the sudden, jerky moment, Maia blindly grabs a handlebar to stay upright. Their leg steps forward quickly to balance themselves as well. Immediately they realize they’re not just holding the handlebar, but someone’s hand  _ on _ the handlebar. 

Maia turns their head towards their hand, about to profusely apologize for touching a  _ stranger _ on the  _ bus _ before taking in the steady gaze and playful smirk. The pink undertones in the stranger’s white skin seems to make their long wavy orangey red hair even more vibrant. Maia’s never seen orange hair that shade before; it’s beautiful and they idly wonder if it’s dyed or natural.

Maia’s embarrassed to admit that their distraction causes them to leave their hand on top of the stranger’s for a couple of seconds longer than socially acceptable. When they open their mouth, Maia knows they deserve whatever reprimand they’re about to receive for being too close for public settings. They quickly move their hand further up the bar.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked.”

“I’m sorry-” Maia pauses in the middle of their knee jerk apology, already anticipating scolding. The stranger’s actual words surprise Maia. They narrow their eyes in a combination of shock and confusion. This sort of thing never happens to them, their disbelief holds. “Wait, are you flirting with me?”

The bus stops again suddenly, they both jostle back and forth from the movement. The stranger winks as they move back to the side exit on the bus. “Yes.”

And then they attractive stranger is off the bus. As they step out the door, Maia notices the variety of dark tattoos that cover the little skin they can see on the back of the stranger’s neck and hand. The tattoos seem to be an eclectic collection of animals and symbols but disappear further up their sleeve, hinting at the multitude that remain hidden and out of sight. It fits well with their dark red turtleneck, ripped black pants, and black combat boots. It makes them look magical and beautiful; suiting them in a way that only another stranger can deduce.

And it makes the whole flirting moment even more surreal for Maia. It lifts their whole anti Wednesday mood, aggravation over being late to campus forgotten. And if they smile to themselves randomly throughout the day for seemingly no reason, it’s just nice to have an ego boost from time to time.

~~~~

Maia’s mind keeps drifting to images of all the intricate, beautiful tattoos they saw on the flirty bus stranger. They reignite Maia’s original desire to get a tattoo, one they first had years ago but just never got around to acting upon for one excuse or another.

But enough is enough. It’s time they act on their desires. The person that held them back from the original idea, and other parts of their life, is no longer with them. So much has changed since Maia’s first thought of getting a tattoo came to mind. They’re in a different,  _ better, _ place in their life and they deserve to celebrate that. To celebrate all the change they’ve accomplished for themselves.

Plus, there is something really satisfying about entertaining an indulgence that was previously denied as even being an option. It feels like freedom and growth to Maia.

It takes about a week for Maia to find the perfect tattoo shop for their first one. It’s queer friendly with aartistn who specializes in bright floral tattoos on all skin tones. The tattoo parlor is able to take a consultation appointment that week but they have no actual appointments available for over two months. If the place wasn’t already recommended by Maia’s good friend Simon, its popularity would be a good enough sign.

Maia’s waited this long, they don’t mind waiting a couple more weeks to actually get the tattoo if that means the place is good and the artist trustworthy. That’s most important for them: feeling comfortable with the tattoo artist.

Even if Maia wanted the tattoo somewhere benign, the act of getting permanent artwork on their body feels intimate in general. Perhaps it is the novelty of the first one. Perhaps it’s the idea of having someone touch a vulnerable stretch of their skin for an extended period of time with their entire focus. Maia’s excited too, don’t get them wrong. They just want it to be a good experience.

On the day of Maia’s consultation, they make sure to arrive early to  _ Pandemonium Parlor  _ in Brooklyn. It’s in an old factory building so the rugged brick walls are covered in colorful framed artwork that contrasts well with the vintage looking chairs and furniture. It’s even better decorated and aesthetically pleasing in person.

Maia’s already well versed in the artist they think they want from instagram but they pass the time, flipping through the different portfolios on the side table after they check in. In the background, the owner, Magnus, talks through the healing process of a fresh tattoo with a client.

Maia’s seen Magnus’s instagram too, knows his preferred pronouns, relationship status, and skill set. He’s extremely talented at shading, geometric shapes and animals, and vibrant accent colors. If there wasn’t another artist with an impressive skill set in exactly what Maia wanted, then they would have requested a consultation with him.

It’s interesting because in a full length shirt and pants, one never would have guessed that Magnus was a tattoo artist nor that he had quite an extensive collection under his clothes that he’s always adding to. His favorite client is his husband, a disgustingly cute, prominent feature in his instagram posts, whose tattoos are also easily hidden but abundant.

Magnus’s sister-in-law, Isabelle, is another prominent feature on his instagram, as well is the head piercer for the shop. There are a couple of posts of the other tattoo artist on his page as well, both promoting her work and the work she’s done for Magnus. Based on Clary’s instagram, her style is a little more realistic than Magnus’s, with a strong portfolio filled with flowers, fruit, and watercolor. Her talent for abstract watercolors ties well into her bright flower repertoire. Her work covers bouquets to fruit bearing trees to just splotches of rainbow colors.

“Hey Clary, your 2 o’clock appointment is here, Maia they/them pronouns.” Magnus pauses his tattoo sunblock spiel to remark to presumably Clary. 

Beyond the amazing portfolios for both Magnus and Clary of  _ Pandemonium Parlor _ and abundance of pride flags in the shop itself, the fact that they asked for Maia’s preferred pronouns when making the appointment further cement the rightness of this decision. These days, it is often those little things that make the difference for Maia.

“Oh.”

That one word sounds surprised and interested at the same time. Maia puts down Clary’s portfolio to look up at the source of the noise. Their breath stops in their chest because on the other end of the couch is the red headed tattooed flirt from nearly two weeks ago on the bus. Maia knows exactly what feeling that word is trying to convey because they feel it too.

They echo back. “Ohhh.”

The artist,  _ Clary _ \- their brain supplies, grins. “Glad to finally have a name to call you instead of babe-who-tried-to-hold-my-hand-on-the-bus. It’s not nearly as beautiful as Maia.”

Magnus snorts out a laugh on the other side of the room. “Only you, biscuit.”

“Hey! That was because the bus driver was being rude, not me breaking social etiquette.” Maia quickly defends themselves, even though they can feel the blush on their cheeks at the fact Clary remembers  _ them _ . It makes choosing this place, choosing  _ Clary _ , after being inspired by seeing her on the bus, feel something more like fate. It feels almost like magic, like something good. And if anything, Maia’s working on not running from things that feel  _ good _ . 

“So are you saying you don’t want to hold my hand?” Clary teases with an easy smirk which just riles them up more, the blush deepening on Maia’s cheeks. She doesn’t give them time to respond, smoothly changing the topic to the consultation. “Hand holding aside, do you want to come back to my area to discuss your tattoo?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Maia agrees, taking the escape rope eagerly to refrain from feeling so flustered. They follow Clary behind the counter and Magnus to the back partitioned off corner. She picks up a sketchbook off a table in the room and sits on a rolling stool, gesturing to the other chair.

Maia sits as Clary flips through the book to a blank page. “So, as you know, I’m Clary, the person you’ve requested a tattoo consultation with today. And just for transparency, this consultation is completely free. It’s an opportunity for us to meet, see if my skills suit what you’re looking for, and if they do, then we can line up an appointment after we have a preliminary sketch. And if not, I’ll point you to another great artist I think is more inline with what you want because I would hate to give you a tattoo that neither of us are excited about.” Clary pauses her well rehearsed bit, waiting to see if Maia has questions. They don’t so they simply nod their head in understanding.

“Okay, that aside, what are you looking to get?”

Maia fish out their cell phone from their pocket, opening their photos to get to their most recent screenshot. “I want a cluster of these purple and white flowers with yellow pistols and green leaves on the top of my thigh.”

They offer their phone to Clary. “They’re lignum vitae tree flowers.”

“They’re beautiful.” She remarks as she takes the phone, zooming in different portions of the plant. She hands the phone back, beginning a rough sketch of the general size and shape of the flowers. “Do you want some leaves too?

“Yes, definitely.” Maia watches Clary sketch for a moment. “Can some of the flowers be buds too?”

Clary nods her head, sketching out three open flowers with a couple of buds and leaves on the outside in a small overall arc. The leaf shape isn’t exact but it is a rough sketch. She offers the sheet over. “Something like this?”

Maia trails their fingers over the drawing, imagining how the tattoo itself would feel under their fingers on their thigh. It sounds satisfying and grounding. A small smile comes across their lips, watching an idea slowly come closer to fruition. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Awesome.” Clary writes down the flower’s name from Maia’s phone next to the flowers. “I’m going to work on the final sketch more and we can discuss the shades of colors you want when you come to approve the final piece and secure the deposit for your appointment.”

Maia puts away their phone, sensing the end of their consultation. Clary surprises them with an unexpected question. “You mentioned in your voicemail that this is your first tattoo, why now? Why us?”

“My friend Simon recommended your place to me, said you guys were LGBT+ owned and friendly. I like to support my community when possible.” Clary hums her understanding as she tilts her head. It feels as if all her focus is entirely on Maia. It makes them flush, feeling vulnerable somehow. They focus their gaze on the sketch in her hands as a distraction.

They let the ease and nostalgia overcome them that those flowers always inspire: simpler times when all their immediate family was alive and happy. They’ve been working on untangling the sadness is tangled up in some of their childhood memories to pull forward the good parts they wish to remember, to cherish, to help ground them in this tumultuous life. 

“And I’ve wanted a tattoo for years now but at first, my partner didn’t want me to get one. He’d make these negative comments about people with tattoos that I unknowingly internalized.” Maia shakes their head as if that’s all it takes to get rid of the bad feelings from their mind. “I want to celebrate moving on from that unhealthy relationship and all my growth from being single these past three years with something I’ve always wanted.”

“That’s amazing.” Maia’s surprised that they can hear how much Clary  _ means _ it. “I’m glad you're celebrating yourself and happy you chose us.”

Clary pauses, caught on an inhale, prompting Maia to look up. Her eyebrows are pulled in close, top teeth digging into her bottom lip in concentration. “And if you’re interested, I’d like to take you out for a drink to celebrate you too.”

There is a pink tint to Clary’s cheeks, betraying that despite her previous flirting, she’s much less confident now. Her eyes look determined, making her look endearing overall. Maia’s heart swells a little at the prospect.

“Like on a date?”

“Only if you wanted it to be.” Clary shrugs, clearly trying to appear nonchalant. Her eyes dart to the corner as she clears her throat. “I’ve been in a similar situation before and I know what a big deal it feels like when you make a decision for yourself that your previous partner would never have supported. I’d like to celebrate that with you if you’d be open to it.”

Hearing Clary’s support and understanding makes their heart swell even more. Their voice is teasing in response to her honesty. “Are  _ you _ the one trying to hold  _ my _ hand now, Clary?”

Clary’s head snaps to Maia, face relaxing with relief at the sight of their playful expression. She huffs out a laugh around her own smile. “Yeah, I’d like to hold your hand.”

Maia’s smile grows proportionately with the good feeling in their heart. “I’d like that too.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow this is my first clary x maia fic!!! i love writing clary forward, flirty, and sure of herself!!!
> 
> thanks for supporting queer content creators, thanks for supporting wlw fics!!!


End file.
